#need to keep going through my shit and taking everything

[ultralspblr]

Strictly Business....

Modern AU: Sinners

Smoke x Reader

One Shot

Mature Audiences only (18+) // MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🙅🏾‍♀️

You and Elijah “Smoke” Moore have been business partners for years now. The restaurant you both own runs like a well-oiled machine, strict standards, sharp leadership, and no room for mistakes. You both like it that way. Both of you lead. Both of you take no shit. And maybe that’s part of the problem…or the tension. Because that kind of control? That kind of fire? It’s intoxicating. You’ve been circling each other for a while now... tight-lipped glances, heat-laced arguments, and flirtation disguised as strategy. But neither of you ever dares to break first. Until the weight of the night breaks the silence between you.

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“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck outta my face,” you snapped at Stack.

The kitchen was abuzz. Plates clattering, voices rising, hot pans hitting flames. A full house out front meant the line was moving nonstop, and the last thing you had time for was Stack’s goofy-ass antics. Today was not the day.

You’d barely opened your eyes this morning before Margey, your head chef, was blowing up your phone. 

You threw on your black dress, black heels, and slicked your coiled hair in a neat low bun, rushing down just in time to keep her from strangling Jesús, the delivery guy.

The produce company had sent the wrong shipment—again—and Margey was out back in full attack mode, ready to end somebody's life.

After talking the plump vivacious woman down from murder and smoothing over the mix-up, she decided to redo the entire night’s menu on the fly. You at least managed to secure a fat discount on the next five deliveries, so a win was a win.

Before you could even breathe, problem number two walked through the door: the health inspector. But not just any inspector: Julien. Your ex.

Of course he tried to dig for something. Anything. Scrunching his eyes at the thermometer to make sure the food was stored at the right temperatures, glossing his gloved finger over your countertops to catch any speck of dirt. 

Still salty about how things ended, Julien lingered longer than necessary, clipboard in hand, hoping to catch even a crumb of chaos. Too bad for him, the kitchen ran like a damn fortress.

The worst he could do was slap you with a minor citation. No A+ this time. Such a petty bastard.

Just when you finally thought you could sink into your office chair and maybe, just maybe, close your eyes for five minutes, your phone buzzed again. Your homegirl from the paper hit you with the news: François, the renowned southern critic, was in town. And he’d picked your restaurant for dinner tonight.

You’d heard the rumors. One review from him could make or break a business. Didn’t matter if the food slapped, if François wasn’t feeling it, neither would the city’s elite.

Now here you were, lip caught between your teeth, gripping a stack of papers as you peered out the small circular kitchen window. The second course had just been delivered to his table. You watched him poke at it with zero emotion.

Not good.

“Damn girl,” Stack said, sitting on the stainless steel table across from you. “You holdin’ on to them papers tighter than a pimp holdin’ his money.”

You didn’t even look at him. “Stack, why are you still here? Didn’t I just tell you to get the fuck outta my face?”

“Yeah, that’s why I moved across from you,” he said with a shrug. “Technically not in your face. Technically I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“How ‘bout I technically run my foot up your a—”

“Whoa, lil’ ma, no need to get mean. I’m just messin’ with you.” He flashed that boyish grin, gold grill sparkling like he thought it added charm.

You cut your eyes toward Smoke, still reviewing delivery numbers. He hadn’t said a word the whole time but had clearly heard everything.

“Can you tell your brother to go fuck off somewhere else?” you asked, arms crossed.

Without looking up, Smoke replied calmly:

“Stack, go fuck off.”

Stack sighed dramatically, sliding off the stainless steel table he’d been perched on.

“Y’all hatin’ on a nigga just tryna bring some joy in the world. She need to relax anyway, get a drink, hit a blunt… or maybe just get some get-right from a handsome, debonair man like myself…” he muttered as he walked off.

Smoke shot him a look that shut that shit down, and you just rolled your eyes. You turned back toward the window, but François was gone. The seat was empty. Your heart dropped.

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You stood frozen, eyes locked on the critic’s now-vacant chair. The second course: untouched. Had he left mid-meal? No feedback, no call over to compliment or critique? Nothing? Your chest rose heavy as a deep sigh passed your lips. You didn’t even realize your breathing had sped up until the papers in your hands began to shake.

“Hey,” came that deep voice behind you.

One word. Low and sharp, sliced through your daze. You turned to find Smoke closer than before. Closer than usual. Clipboard gone. Expression unreadable. Silver chain glinting through his black collared shirt.

“I…” you started, but trailed off as he stepped in closer.

His eyes scanned your face. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… focused. Like he was trying to read something underneath all the stress and strategy.

“You did everything right,” he said. “Let it go.”

“If he leaves a bad review, Smoke…”

“He won’t.”

There it was. That confidence. That grit behind his voice always made something shift in your chest, and warm your body. You hated how easily he could say things like that. Like the world would just bend because he said so.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was how close he was standing now. But your voice came sharper than you intended.

“You always so damn sure, huh? Nothing shakes you?,” you said, batting your eyes at him.

He leaned in, just slightly, just enough for his cologne to brush against your nose, smokey, woodsy, expensive. His voice dropped lower.

“Only one thing I lose composure over.”

Your breath caught. “And what’s that?”

He paused. Then, quietly, without looking away:

“You.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The silence stretched. Charged. Heavy. Until he stepped even closer, erasing the space between, no clipboard, no walls, no excuses. His hand came up, slow, and brushed your arm, fingers grazing your elbow in circular motions. It wasn’t sexual. But it burned.

"Say the word,” he said, voice low and rough.

“What word?” you asked, a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushed the tip of your ear.

“Yes.”

Before you could even say yes, Margey cleared her throat from across the room, a sharp little cough to remind you both exactly where you were.

You blinked, snapped back to reality, and cleared your own throat in return. Slipping past Smoke, you moved toward her, but even as you walked away, you could feel his eyes dragging over you, heavy, smoldering. The heat of it followed you, low and slow, curling in your belly like a secret flame you didn’t want extinguished.

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The night dragged on.

François had left. And with him, you were almost certain, your hopes and dreams too. Still, it was closing time. The front-of-the-house crew had cleared out. The last of the back-of-the-house crew were clocking out behind them.

You were bone-tired and ready to disappear into the arms of your bed and pretend today never happened. Just as you grabbed your purse and headed toward the exit, the office door opposite yours creaked open.

“Where you goin’?” Smoke asked, leaning on the doorframe, towering over you.

“I'm takin’ my ass to the house,” you said with a small yawn, half-forced, half-sincere. “Still crunchin’ those numbers?”

“Gotta make sure this shit add up,” he said, but his eyes weren’t on the clipboard anymore, they were on you, slow and unhurried, undressing you inch by inch. The hairs on your neck rose. That warmth in your belly returned with a flutter.

Maybe Stack had a point. Maybe you did need to get you some get-right. And Mr. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore? He didn’t seem like a bad place to start.

You bit your lip and tried to look away, quick, casual, like you weren’t thinking exactly what you were thinking. He saw it anyway.

“Well,” you spoke, voice softening, “you’re always so damn diligent. I’m glad I have you as a business partner.”

Smoke tilted his head, just enough to study you. That gaze again low, deliberate. The kind of look that stripped everything down without a single touch.

“You can have me as anything you want,” he said.

He stepped in closer. Close enough to block your path. Close enough that your breath caught. You instinctively stepped back, but hit the edge of the hallway wall.

“Smoke…” you warned, though your voice lacked heat.

“You had a long day,” he said. “Let me handle it.”

Your breath caught. The air between you thickened.

“You should rest,” he murmured, “but you’re still holdin’ on to too much tension.”

His fingers brushed along your wrist light, barely there, but your whole body responded like you’d been struck.

“Let me take care of you.”

“I’m fine…” you started, but he interrupted, eyes locked to yours:

“Safe word is ‘Blue.’ You understand?”

Your mouth went dry.

“Yes.”

“Say it back, baby.”

“...Blue.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

That was all he needed. In one smooth motion, he turned you, pressed your back against the wall, and brought his mouth to your neck. Not kissing, just hovering, breathing against your skin until you trembled.

“You want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” he asked, voice dropping a register.

You swallowed. “Everywhere.”

He chuckled low in his chest.

“Then don’t move.”

Finally, his hands were on you. One gripping your hip with command. The other slid slowly up your back, pulling at the zipper of your dress. The sound of it lowering filled the quiet space.

Your dress slipped just enough to reveal your bra strap. He took his time, thumb grazing along the delicate line of your skin.

His other hand slid underneath your dress, slowly gliding over your thigh. The cold touch of his hand sent a chill down your spine, causing your back to arch just a little, as it made its way over your pulsating folds. Bare.

“No panties?” he asked, voice thick.

You smirked. “Busy morning”

He groaned low in your ear.

“That right?” His hand slid between your thighs, fingers brushing between your slit. Slick already soaking his fingers.

“Already wet. You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy”

He pushed two fingers inside you, firm and deep. A gasp escaped your lips, echoing off the hallway tiles. You bit your tongue.

“Feelin’ a little defiant.”

His eyes sparked, locked onto yours as he thrusted his fingers inside your warm, slick walls, trying to make you squirm.

Smoke didn't like defiance, and you knew that, but you weren’t ready to yield so easily. Your body, however, betrayed you, the moment his thumb found your clit.

He motioned your pearl slowly in circular motions, allowing the heat that burned in your belly to build, rising deep. You tried to steady your breath, chest rising heavily, biting back the whimpers begging for release.

His eyes stayed on yours. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips, flashing that signature grill. You wanted to smack that smug look off his face, and he knew it. But he had a lesson to teach you.

He rubbed your clit harder, pressing into your pearl, with firm pressure. Your breath caught his rhythm, with every push of his thumb, and thrust of his fingers sliding in and out, in and out, of your slick heat.

You couldn't hold back anymore. Your arms steadied on his shoulders. Your nails dug into him, as a heat pooled in your pussy.

Your body jerked, back arching off the wall. Warm, fluid released from your pussy, drenching his fingers. Tears pricked your cheeks as a soft moan finally released from your parted lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, watching your every reaction. “You follow instructions so well…when you finally listen.”

He didn’t let you speak. Instead, he curved his fingers inside you just right, rubbing that tender spot, making you chase that second release.

Your head hit the wall behind you. Legs trembling, he caught your chin, and tilted it so you’d look at him.

“Eyes on me.”

You did.

“When you come, you do it lookin’ at me. Got it?”

“Yes...mmh”, you slurred.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

He withdrew his fingers slowly and dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. You didn’t question a thing.

His mouth was skilled….Merciless. Tongue slow at first, then faster, then rougher until the tension in your belly snapped, and your vision blacked out for a split second.

He held you through it, letting you ride the waves on his tongue like you were made for it. When he rose again, lips glistening, you were breathless. Spent. Folded.

“Still wanna go home?” he asked, raising a brow.

You blinked up at him.

“No.”

He tilted his head.

“Speak up.”

His thumb rose, slow and controlled, brushing your bottom lip with deliberate pressure.

“No, what?”

You swallowed, cheeks flushed, body buzzing.

“No, Daddy.”

That earned you a smirk and something darker in his eyes. Not playful. Possessive.

“Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. He reached for your wrist and guided you into his office. The door clicked shut behind you. The air shifted immediately. No noise. No interruptions. Just him. He walked behind his desk and sat, legs spread, watching you.

“Strip.”

You froze for a second, but you knew he didn’t like to repeat himself. You reached back, slowly tugged the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down, letting the fabric pool to your feet. You stepped out of it, standing tall in your heels, nipples hard beneath your lacey black bra,

“Bra too.”

You unclipped it, let it slide down your arms, then dropped it onto the chair. He exhaled, like the sight of your brown skin physically affected him. His hand drifted to his lap, palming the hard length straining against his black slacks.

“Come sit on Daddy’s desk.”

You walked over, heart pounding, heat pulsing between your thighs. You perched right on the edge, bare skin against cool wood, knees pressed together, trying to stay composed.

He chuckled.

“Sittin’ all shy now?”

He rose, stepped between your legs, using one hand to firmly push your knees apart. You were wide open. Exposed.Your pretty pink pussy sitting out on display. Swollen. Tender.

“That’s more like it.”

He leaned in, tongue sliding down your neck, lips grazing your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, as his tongue made its way down to your full brown breasts. He trailed soft kisses towards your dark, hard nipples.

“Try again.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth circled your nipples. A breathy moan escaped, as heat rolled through your core, slick gathering at your exposed pussy. As if he knew, one hand slipped between your thighs to feel the wetness waiting for him. Your pussy was exposed, raw, and aching.

“Wet for me again?”

You shook your head slowly.

“This pussy mine?”

You stayed silent.

He gripped your chin between two fingers.

Your breath hitched.

“Yes Daddy. This pussy is yours.”

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That confirmation set off something inside him. He kissed you. Deep, hot, claiming. His lips stole every breath of air you had in your lungs. His tongue declared yours not forceful, not rushed, but confident. Certain. Like he already knew you belonged to him.

He broke the kiss only to unbuckle his belt in one swift motion, tossing it aside before freeing himself from his pants. Thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.

“On all fours. Now.”

You turned over onto the desk, heels still on, back arched, elbows planted on the wood.

You felt the heat of him behind you. Then, his hands gripped your hips holding you in place.

One hand slid between your thighs again, fingers teasing your soaked folds.

“This pussy’s so wet for me,” he growled.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you?”

You whimpered into the desk, hips bucking.

“Please, Daddy.”

Without another word, he gripped your hips and drove into you in one long, deliberate thrust.

You gasped as he filled you, fully and deep. He stilled, buried inside you, letting you adjust, before pulling back and slamming in again.

“You worked hard today, baby. Everything is gonna be alright.”

You let out a muffled groan as his hips pounded into you. Each thrust sharp with pain, immaculate with pleasure. You arched, burying your face into the mahogany desk….no words, only the rhythmic slap of flesh.

Thrust.

“You're takin’ this dick like a good girl.”

Thrust.

“My nasty girl.”

You could barely breathe ... just moan, face flat, nails digging into scratching into the desk's grooves.

His thrusts turned brutal, steady, pushing you up the desk with each stroke. He gripped your neck, pulling your head back gently.

“You gonna come for me again… just like this.”

You moaned a muffled, “Mmmhmm”

He stopped mid-stroke. Sweat dripped from his brow, rolling down your spine. His hand gently gripped the front of your neck as he whispered into your ear.

“What did I say about usin’ your words.”

He leaned back and smacked your ass, sending a stinging heat through you.

“Ye-…Yes, Daddy!”

He reached beneath you, fingers finding your clit, circling fast…punishing… until you unraveled.

You cried out, high-pitched and helpless, as you clenched around him.

He grunted, low and deep, then pulled out, stroking himself over your back, breath ragged.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“On me, Daddy”

He groaned as he came, warm release spilling across your lower back, your body twitching from overstimulation.

Silence. Only your ragged breath and the creak of the desk as you slowly began to rise.

“Did I tell you to move?,” His voice sharp. Heavy.

You lowered back on your stomach, the wood still warm beneath you.

Then, soft as a whisper, he walked to a small cabinet in the corner and pulled out a folded hand towel. You barely noticed, until he returned from the connected washroom and came back with it warm and damp.

He leaned over you. Carefully, he pressed the cloth between your thighs and lower back, wiping away the slick and sweat. His hands moved with reverence.

He turned you gently, bent down to pick up your dress, holding it up, not just to help, but to dress you.

“Step in.”

You did…slowly…softly.

He zipped you up and handed you your bra with a half-smirk.

"Don't wear that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because next time I bend you over…I don’t want shit in the way.”

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End

Authors Note: I'm having writers block on my other Sinners Modern AU, so I wrote this one shot of a Dom Smoke x Reader in the meantime. I usually write fluff fantasy pieces, so if you enjoyed this or have feedback, please feel free to comment. TY 😊

Also: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (18+ only) 🙅🏾‍♀️

[n3wlove]

chéri

namgyu and reader random dating headcanons

note — holy, am i finally having my 'posting frequently' come back?! (probably not) anyways, hope you enjoy these headcanons, i forgot how much i loved writing for namgyu. i'm so sad there won't be anymore new content of him. after finishing this it makes me want to write more headcanons of this lovely man. i hate this, but i want to keep posting while i have motivation. pt. 2 to affection coming soon... requests are open!! ;)

tags — mention of drugs, soft namgyu!! fem!reader, clingy namgyu, things you would expect from him in a relationship, im not good at tags

── I can see him meeting you through Club Pentagon, knowing you in high school, a dating app, a party, or mutual friends. In my opinion, Nam-gyu doesn’t seem like the type to fall for someone in a traditionally romantic way. I don’t think he’d even be looking for a relationship in the first place. Falling in love with you would be a complete accident. There is nothing he regrets though.

── Definitely shows you off to his friends.

── He is manipulative, of course. Nam-gyu will guilt you to get himself out of situations. Some things are only okay when he does them. Yeah, he can go out whenever he wants, but when you do, it will become a problem. He is good at what he does because everytime he reasons with you—you believe him.

── If you are sick, He is unsure of what to do at first. Nam-gyu never did good in scenarios where he had to take care of someone, and now you were sick. If you were anyone else he probably would've just left you to figure out things by yourself. A close friend? He might call to check on you every now and again. But you were his girlfriend, and he wasn't dumb enough to treat you how he treated everyone else.

He comes to your apartment with a bag full of different medications. Tylenol, ibuprofen, benadryl, whatever you need, he probably has it. Hes unsure of what you usually buy, so he buys it all for you just to be safe. He would also probably come over with food, but you're going to have to share it with him.

"Hey Y/n, hope everythings good with you. Holy shit this place is a fucking mess..." He would complain as he walked in, still holding the bag of items tightly in his hand.

You would simply roll your eyes as you shut the door behind him. "What, are you going to help me clean it up?"

He would shake his head no.

"Exactly what I thought."

── Nam-gyu is touchyyy. He always needs his hands on something, and when you are in his reach, it will be you. No arguments. Rubbing his hands up and down your back, squeezing your shoulders, playing with the cuffs of your sleeves, messing with the necklace you have on, stroking your hand, it is always something. It gets especially bad when he is in withdrawal and has no way to relieve himself.

Nam-gyu will listen if you tell him no but don't be surprised if you get the silent treatment.

── More on Nam-gyu being touchy but I feel like he would be the best cuddler. He would never admit it while sober but he loves being close to you, your body next to his, your head resting on his chest, hearing his every heartbeat.

Him wasted though? Hes not hiding it. He’s all over you, hands gripping your waist, fingers threading through your hair, begging you to lay down with him, to let him wrap himself around you and stay there.

"Y/N, c'mon, pleaseee..."

"I'm busy," you'd reply in a soft voice, gently pulling him off of you.

"Fuck, please, I'm begging, just this once..."

You'll give in eventually.

── Really good kisser. He is experienced, so he has no problem with makeouts. Actually, they are one of his favorite things ever. Stressed out? He will just make his way over to you, kissing your neck to your jaw all the way to your mouth, snaking his tongue in. He doesn't explain anything to you, it just happens.

── When Nam-gyu first started dating you he was distant a lot of the time. In past relationships, he was simply just used. Whether that was for Club Pentagon V.I.P, connections, free drinks, etc, his ex-lovers never truly cared about him—only what he offered. So, when he met you, he feared the same thing would happen again and he was hesitant. It took him some time to figure out you weren't like his exes.

He probably realized it on some random Thursday afternoon, the two of you sitting in his bedroom, deciding when and where your next date should be.

"Hmmm... theres a festival going on somewhere around here Sunday, maybe we should go there?" You would suggest.

Nam-gyus brows would furrow, a confusion clear in his voice. "Are you sure you don't just want to go to my workplace...? Thanos is gonna be there that day, I know a lot of people are eager to meet him, I could save you a spot—"

"Who?"

"What do you mean... who?"

"Oh... Thanos. That one failed rapper. Why would I want to see him? This is about us, y'know."

“Yeah… you’re right. About us.” He would reply unbotheredly, though in reality he was really holding back tears, turning his head to the side so you wouldn’t see them welling along his waterline.

── He is a possessive man. Whats his is his only, and if he notices a guy staring at you in public he will scoff and pull you closer to him. He isn't the type to start a fight, (as much as he would like to appear that way) so he will make it as obvious as possible that you are his before anything.

"Yeah, this is my girlfriend Y/n," he would introduce you to his friends, being sure to punctuate girlfriend in the sentence. Not because he felt like he had something to prove, but because he felt like everyone was a threat when it came to you.

── Alongside possessive he is also jealous. Sometimes so much so it can be draining. You never liked feeling controlled in a relationship, and you made that clear with Nam-gyu when you first started dating. However, you must've been naive to think that Nam-gyu would actually listen. Come home from a girls night out without him? He will be pissy. Short responses, easily irritable, saying things like, "I know you saw a guy so you should just tell me now."

Though, I do see him like making you jealous. He thinks you are cute when you get all protective over him, but not only that it also makes him feel wanted and loved.

── He knows he is lucky to have you. Everytime he is reminded about how you practically saved his life he will cry about it. Maybe not around you, but in private most definitely.

── Insecure at times. You will always have to reassure him. Its no secret that throughout his life he has felt little, undermined, below everyone. You would try constantly to prove him wrong, and he would also try his best to believe you, but some nights, after a long shift, it would all come pouring out.

"They can't even fucking remember my name! It's Nam-gyu, not Nam-su! Fuck, I do all these things for them and they don't even care, maybe I am just a fucking useless promoter."

He's not going to be okay until he hears you telling him otherwise in that sweet voice of yours.

── Probably has convinced you to do drugs with him at least once.

"It's just something to help you relax, it's nothing that will hurt you, just take it. You trust me right?"

── Nam-gyu lovesss to surprise you, even if most of the time it's just with random trinkets, dates, etc. It makes him feel like he is doing at least one thing right. Seeing a wave of excitement come over your face because of something he did makes him feel great. This goes hand in hand with his love to prank you.

── Everything reminds him of you. He will be walking down the road and he will see a flower you had mentioned you liked. He will pick it, shoving it is his pocket to show you when you two are together later.

"You know that one flower breed or something you said you liked?" He would start casually, reaching into his pocket. "Well, I found one. Here. Take it."

He hears a new good love song? His mind will immediately wander to you. Sees your favorite color on something? 'Y/n would love this.'

── Defends you all the time. Even when you aren't around. If he hears someone bad mouthing you he will be quick to yell at them.

── You may not realize it, but everytime you are talking about something you like or something you are interested in, he is listening intently. He wants to be the one that remembers these things about you so that next time you have a conversation with him he can sneak in some random niche reference from one of your interests or buy you something you would love—ultimately making you love him even more.

── All he ever wants to do is be close to you. You could be laying in bed on the phone with a friend and Nam-gyu would plop down right next to you, instantly clinging to your sides and looking up at you with pleading eyes.

"I'm on the phone right now Nam-gyu," you would tell him, bringing a finger up to your lips to hush him.

He would groan, his hands traveling to your arms, to your waist, to your inner thigh. You would go completely silent.

"Y/n? Is everything okay?" Your friend would ask, confused on why you haven't said anything in the past 3 minutes. Nam-gyu would continue to rub on you.

"I think I need to go." You would respond, quickly hanging up. Nam-gyu would smirk, pulling you closer to him, face buried in the crook of your neck.

── Similar to the last one, Nam-gyu follows you around everywhere like a lost dog. It's rare you go somewhere alone because he always wants to tag along. It could be as simple as a run to the store and Nam-gyu will throw his shoes on, grab his car keys, and ask dumb questions like "Okay, so are we leaving now?"

Sometimes you could just want a break and Nam-gyu would take it personally.

"I think I wanna go alone this time baby," you would tell him as you threw on your jacket.

"Thats fucking nonsense.. you love me, don't you? and I also have an errand to run, so lets just do this together, huh?" He would rebuttal, already dragging you with him out the door with him.

── For some reason I don't see him being a fan of pet names. However, I think he would occasionally call you baby, babe, my love, etc.

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | it's you, part ii

masterlist | part i

words: 2.8k warnings: 18+, hangover, alcohol, vomiting, blood, injury, quiet sapphic pining, baadly written action bc i'm tired. cliffhanger, sorry. this was supposed to be the RESOLUTION and instead i created MORE PROBLEMS for them but don't worry i think the next part will be the last. also, curvy reader <3 synopsis: you have no memory of drunkenly confessing your feelings for abby last night, but she does — which could just serve as a distraction that puts you both in harm's way when on patrol.

The morning light is too bright. Your eyes tear like they’re full of grit, and you moan when your head begins to pound. Fuck, you can’t remember ever feeling this awful, except maybe when you got food poisoning a few years back. And everything smells weird. Not yours. Your duvet isn’t as scratchy, the mattress not as lumpy. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, because you feel like you’re going to throw up, and also like you already have, tongue dry as sandpaper and throat burning like somebody’s poured acid down it.

“Easy,” a voice soothes. A bucket is shoved into your lap just in time, though all that leaves you is bile and water. The retching merges with sobs as the pain hits you at all angles. “You’re okay. Get it all up,” somebody is saying, like you have a fucking choice. A hand draws slow circles on your back, and you don’t know if it makes things worse or better. 

It feels like eons before it passes and you can finally figure out who’s taking care of you. And then time stops altogether when you lock eyes with Abby, of all people. Not only that, but you recognise her room, not yours.

“Shit.” Last night flashes through your mind in fragmented images. Drinking that god awful beer. Seeing Abby and trying to forget her. And then, it’s all… blurred. 

“You okay?” Abby is all concern, her brown eyes creasing at the corners as she wipes a sweaty strand of hair from your face. 

“How’d I get here?”

“Not easily. I ended up carrying you most of the way, but it was easier to stop here than drop you down the hall.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, embarrassment washing over you. “I’m so sorry. Shit, how much did I drink?”

“Enough to put Manny to shame, I think.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Here. Got you some painkillers.”

From the nightstand, she offers you the pills, and you’re quick to down them with a glass of water. Everything tastes bad, sour, and it’s an effort to keep it all down. But you’re not going to embarrass yourself in front of her anymore than you already have, so you sit straighter. “What time is it?”

“Just after six. I gotta get going for patrol, but I’ll cover for you, okay?”

As if it couldn’t get any worse. You hadn’t even thought about fucking patrol last night. “You can’t do that. I’ll never hear the end of it. Just… give me a few minutes.” When you try to sit up, your stomach lurches and your head ends up in the bucket again. “Okay, maybe like fifteen,” you decide when the water and pills you’d just downed make a reappearance. 

Abby frowns. “You can’t work like this. Just take the day off. I’ll tell them you caught some flu.”

“They’ll know I'm hungover like everyone else, and Jesus, I am not going to be that idiot. Thank you for taking care of me, Abby, but I don’t need coddling, okay?”

And to prove it, you finally stand, using the wall as support when your knees buckle. Abby tries to catch your waist, but you bat her away, in search for your clothes. Which are not on your body. 

Your eyes widen, and you cover up the parts that aren’t hidden by your underwear. “Wait… We didn’t...?”

“No! No, god, no.” As though only now realising your bareness, she turns around, her cheeks smattering pink in the dawn light. She cuts a perfect silhouette in front of the window, broad and hewn from stone, her braid snaking down her back  — a little messier than usual. You resist the urge to tidy the stray hairs. 

Judging from her current reaction, she’d fucking hate that. You can’t help but take offense at how disgusted she is at the very idea, heart squeezing its usual reminder: she doesn’t want you. She’ll never want you. 

“You, uh, just got a little hot in the night, I guess.” Sure enough, she pulls back her duvet to reveal your clothes, cargos crumpled and shirt smelling too much like last night’s beer. When you grimace gingerly, she takes a grey sweater from her pile and drapes it over your arms. 

She’s still making a special effort not to look at anything below your neck when she says, “Here. Should fit.” 

It won’t fit, because Abby is Abby and while she’s all muscle, you’re all curves, but you peel it over your head, grateful that it’s dry and vomit-less. And it smells like her, you realise: faint musk and that citrus soap she always tries to hunt down on supply runs. For a minute, you’re drowning in her, and the sickness ebbs. 

“You should get downstairs. Don’t be late because of me,” you decide, because you can’t breathe with her here and you’re so fucking mortified that you’ve ended up hungover and naked in her bed. In fact, you might still be drunk. The beer is spitting through your pores, vision blurred. 

She shrugs, like she isn’t usually the first to be ready every damn day. “I don’t mind. I just… Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” you snap. You’re tired, hurting, wondering why you always have to make yourself look so pathetic in front of her. 

“All right. Suit yourself,” she mutters under her breath, and moves to get her bag ready. Only then do you wonder where she slept last night: Manny’s bed is as rumpled as ever, and Abby has only ever joked that she might catch something if she went anywhere near it. But there’s nowhere else in this tiny apartment…

“I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble last night.” Your voice shakes. 

Abby shakes her head. “I consider the fact that my carpet and bed are clean a win. You’re fine.”

But it doesn’t feel fine, not when she shifts from foot to foot like there’s something more to say. Whatever it is is lost when she shrugs her backpack over one shoulder. “Meet you down there?”

“Sure. Thanks. And… I’m really sorry, again.”

Abby hums and is gone, like she can’t get rid of you fast enough. You’re left with only the sourness of your breath and questions about what else might have happened last night. Maybe it’s better you don’t remember.

***

Since you’re in no fit state for breakfast, Abby nabs a granola bar from the canteen that she hopes you might want to nibble on later. She doesn’t like that you’re coming, and not just because you’re sick. You’re a distraction she doesn’t need when tensions between the Scars and the Wolves are this high. Try as she might, she can’t forget your words. 

I’m not in love with you. Only a little bit.

It’s clear you don’t remember, or maybe you don’t want to remember, but she… she can’t stop. Did you mean it, or should she do the smart thing and brush it off as drunken ramblings?

But there’s a nagging at the back of her mind. It’s been… odd between you two for a while. An electricity sits between you, even when you’re focused on your patrols. Even when you’re fighting. She’s aware of you always: every step, every breath. She knows it’s not just her who feels it, because you’ve changed around her. It’s like you’re always trying to hide. 

She just wants to see you again. 

When she gets to the truck, she grunts at the sight that awaits her. Fucking Richie. She at least gets to relish the sight of his bruises, left there from when she’d punched him the night before. Clearly, he remembers everything perfectly, because his glower is sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Ouch. Looking a little worse for wear, Rich,” she jabs, feigning innocence as she climbs into the back of the truck and lounges on the bench across from him. “What happened?”

His fingers curl tight around his rifle. “Fuck you, Abby,” 

If she wasn’t worried about you, she might chuckle, but she doesn’t know what went down last night before she stepped in. Only knows she can’t trust him, and if he touches you…

She digs the heel of her boot into his toe hard. “No, Richie, fuck you. If you mess up today, you won’t have any teeth left in that empty skull of yours. I told you to leave her alone last night. Y’think you can follow orders properly this time and do your fucking job without making it harder for everyone else?”

Richie grinds his teeth, face grotesque with hatred. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Don’t test me, asshole. I swear to god.” Given the chance, she’d love to fucking kill him, but since she’s surrounded by colleagues who expect better from her, she plants herself back down. Right on cue, you haul yourself into the truck with Alice, who wags her tail happily. 

Your gaze brushes over Richie without any acknowledgment. “We good to go?”

“You look like shit,” he says, and she decides that he will not, in fact, have any teeth left by the end of the day.

But you’re better than her at blocking it out, so you sit down, running your shaky hand through Alice’s fur. And as the truck pulls out of the gates, Abby is too aware of the space between you on the bench. What it would feel like to close it. Then the broken ruins of the city rise up ahead, and she remembers that there are more important things to focus on. 

***

The two of you fall into step as you begin your patrol, the spring wind rattling through dilapidated apartment buildings. Alice ambles ahead, ever-fixed on her duty to protect, just like Abby. Maybe Richie wasn’t wrong with that little insult he’d thrown out about her being your bulldog last night. 

She looks down, kicking a stone across the concrete with the toe of her boot. “So, you don’t remember much from last night I guess.”

As though defensive, your gun is pulled tighter to your body, and you scour the buildings like you’re purposely trying not to look at her. Again. “I think I prefer it that way,” you admit. “Do I want to ask how badly I embarrassed myself?”

Abby smirks, though something inside her clenches. It’s stupid, but she wishes you remember, just to know what you’d say sober. Or, more accurately, how you’d say it. She doesn’t know what she expects: the two of you have never paid interest in anyone when it comes to dating, but…

But she imagines it, sometimes, when your hands brush as you deal her cards during game nights, or when you talk about your old home with a sad, watery smile. It’s been a while since anybody has touched her, spoke softly to her, paid attention, and if she wanted anyone to do that, it would be you. Not fucking Owen, like you assumed. She still had to talk to him about that later. Couldn’t have him thinking she still wanted him that way, not with Mel pregnant.

And now you’re wearing her sweater, and it’s slack around your arms, stretched around your waist, and it might be the hottest damn thing she’s ever seen. She hopes you don’t wash it before you give it back, hopes your scent remains long after you do so that she can at least keep the ember of want inside her alive. 

Pathetic, she knows, but she’s been… tethered to you for a long time. Unable to take her eyes from you when you’re not looking. You have a way of moving through the world like rain: gently, but you make everything shine. She’s often wondered what would happen in your storm; thinks maybe she saw a taste of a torrent last night, because something other than the drink was wrong. Maybe still is. 

“I mean, Richie was being an ass to you,” she decides finally, because the rest feels like it should be hers alone, and she doubts you’d want to talk about it.

You roll your eyes. “Well, that’s something new and different. Since my hand is still functional, I’m guessing I didn’t do that to his face.”

Abby showed off her bruised knuckle with a flourish. “Defended your honour.”

“Oof, then I’m sorry it’s all a blur. Would love to savour that image.”

“I can recreate it sometime.” 

You both chuckle, though Abby isn’t joking. 

“So, you seemed to be avoiding me last night,” she pointed out. 

“Not very well, since I ended up in your bed. You sure about that?”

“I mean before you got too hammered to walk. You said you didn’t wanna talk to me. Any particular reason?”

You take a breath, dabbing the sweat from your brow. “Abby…”

But she never gets her answer, because a distant whistle has you both on high alert. Alice’s ears perk up, and Abby beckons you toward the nearest building. Your guns may be more effective than the Scars’ arrows, but the bastards have been creeping up on your perimeters recently. Shooting your men before they can so much as blink. 

You hop inside the broken window of a destroyed barber shop, creeping up to the second floor, where an apartment is covered in debris. “Let’s try to get eyes on them before we make a move,” Abby whispers. “D’you know which way it came from?”

You shake your head, lip pinched between your teeth. She tries not to look at the pink, dented flesh. Fails. 

I’m not in love with you. Only a little.

You squint into the scope of your rifle, scanning the area – like she should be, except she's still fixated on you. That little bunch between your eyebrows. The strained muscles of your shoulder beneath the tail of the gun. “I don’t see anyone.”

Shit, she needs to focus. She peers out, then falls into deathly stillness when figures begin emerging from half a dozen different buildings along the street, all of them with their bows poised. 

“It’s a fucking ambush,” Abby whispers. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The three of you creep back downstairs, avoiding the shattered glass in the barbershop as you head into the back office. 

“Thank fuck,” Abby says at the sight of an exit. “C’mon.”

Her muscles strain as she thrusts open the rusty door, guiding you out first. You both keep low, dashing down a dingy alleyway that smells like shit, and she can’t help but notice that your breathing is laboured, stamina depleted after last night’s antics. She laces her fingers through yours, afraid that if you have to run, you won’t be able to keep up. That’s when Alice barks at something behind them, and Abby twists to find a Seraphite rounding onto the alley, ready to take aim. She whistles with fierce determination. You shoot your gun, but your aim is piss poor, and you hit her thigh instead of anything vital.

“Run,” Abby orders, because there’s no time to try again, and then you bolt at the next turn. 

Another Scar lies in wait, and you shout her name as an arrow flies through the air. It misses, this time, but you trip shakily as she yanks you back from where you came, taking another path in the opposite direction: towards the danger instead of away from it.

She tries. She tries so fucking hard to get you out, but you’re like deadweight in her arms, and a million arrows are flying at you as you fall back out into the open. 

“C’mon,” she begs roughly as you duck over and over behind her. Alice defends you as best she can, but you’re overwhelmed, outnumbered, and the other Wolves are nowhere in sight. 

You skip across the road, using cars as your cover. Abby scans you frantically, unsure if you’re hurt or just exhausted. Sweat is soaking through your — her — sweater, and your eyes are wide. Foggy. She knew you shouldn’t have fucking come.

“Did they get you?” she asks frantically.

“No, no I’m fine, but I’m slowing you down. You need to go.”

“Shut up,” she barks. She isn’t doing this now. She’s getting you both out of here. Alice, too. Her eyes snag on an exit route up ahead, a break in a wire fence that will take you closer to base. If you can stay low, you can make it. “Get up there. Cover me.”

“Abby—”

“Just do it!” she yells, and this time, you obey, rushing ahead. She shoots one Scar down; two, three. She’s so focused on the ones on the ground that she doesn't see the arrow flying from the second floor of an apartment building across the street. 

So focused on getting you safe that she doesn’t feel it plunge into her shoulder until pain splinters through her seconds after the fact. 

You scream her name, but she’s gritting her teeth, ploughing forward because it’s all she can do, and somehow, you make it beyond the break in the fence, running on heavy limbs. Now, you’re faster, sharper, the one throwing shots back as you sprint through courtyards and backroads towards home. 

And she thinks that if she’d just been smarter, focused — if she hadn’t let you come in the first place — this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be gushing out blood, and you would be safe. 

But you’re ready to catch her when her legs give in minutes later. Ready to scream for help when Richie and another Wolf appear in the distance. And Abby tries to hold on because you beg her to. 

Because she is always holding on for you.

[blxksun]

18+, minors and ageless blogs dni

camboy!lee know who didn't even start out (or think of doing it) because of his own thoughts. getting thirsty comments in his cat caretaking videos. comments about how hot he was, that jaw, those eyes, weird comments about sitting on his nose, how big his arms were, his thighs, those veins, those hands. and then one from a "mrknowskittycat: please tell me you have a link, please tell me you have a link, please tell me you have a link" and one day being affected by them.

camboy!lee know who does it because he finds desperation funny, not his, (even though the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants reeks of desperation), but the viewers. they'd been still waiting to get him out of his clothes.

camboy!lee know who doesn't even have a schedule for when he goes live, because he knows people will show up anyway. and quickly too. especially since the title is, "playing today".

camboy!lee know who, even now, still finds it funny. he doesn't even do anything on the livestream. he just sits there in a t-shirt that has the sleeves cut off and the light gray sweats. of course he's freeballing, it's comfortable, not because the comments that are thirsting are amusing. definitely not.

camboy!lee know who has a light smirk on his face as he reads the comments that are particularly needy. "is the print not enough?, you just have to see it don't you?", "if you want me to play so bad, play with yourself first, tell me about it, i might get fomo", "i don't punish my kittens, i just don't give them treats, who knows maybe i'll cave, give you one"

camboy!lee know who moves slightly in a stretch and lets out a groan. laughing when ping! ping! ping! ping! comes in. "you guys gift for a stretch, how kind, still doesn't convince me you want me to play". tone condecending, smirk still tight on his lips, and a tiny breathy laugh accompanying it.

camboy!lee know whose breath catches when he sees a familiar name in the chat. "onlymrknowknows": i just joined, because i was watching your old streams. i was so pent up from all your teasing that since seeing you my hand has been in my pants. i just got paid so i'll tell you all about it <3". finally, just who he was waiting for.

camboy!lee know who tells the other viewers to tell 'onlymrknowknows', thank you and that they should takes notes on how to get what they want out of him. moving his hips up to slowly shimmy his sweats down to mid-thigh. hard cock, almost as veiny as the rest of him, clear essence shining at the tip, springing up as it was finally free.

camboy!lee know who stroked his cock with vigor, as the detailed report of viewer masturbation came through on his screen. front teeth the only thing showing as he moaned. struggling to keep his eyes open to read because 1. the image in his head is going crazy right now and 2. he needs to know when they cum. he really wants it to be at the same time. his tough and nonchalant facade completely disregarded, because he teased himself by teasing the viewers, everything felt way too good right now, his thumb rubbing just right on his tip. and he whimpers. the tough guy whimpers, and then breathily whispers out "f-fuck, look, you got shit-what you wanted, please, i need you to cum with me, please, please, fuckkkk please ah- oh god!" and it's so whiney.

camboy!lee know who doesn't even get to see the last message come through, because it hit him. eyes screwed shut and hips practically levitating out of the chair. he cums pathetically, shooting up onto his tee, some landing on his thigh. and the nerve of him to come down, face flushed, open mouth panting, teasing eyes and smirk becoming ever present. "okay , i played, bye". leaning up, ending the stream immediately, leaving viewers wondering when he'd be back next.

blxksun2025 do not copy or translate my works. happy reading !

a/n definitely making one for the other two, might do a poll for that one as well. this is a work of pure fiction, nothing in this work is a true reflection of the real person this fanfiction is based around.

[fictionandfixation]

MORE Older Bachelor Headcanons (spicy edition)

The residents of tumbr dot com were biiiig fans of these last time. Decided I was going to slut it up just for you guys and serve you some more Stardew Dilf Content. Love these three so much tbh. I might also branch out in the future and write some for my chosen wlw marriage candidates Leah and Haley and the other bachelorettes (?) because the demographics I am a fan of include a) dilfs and b) every femme ever to exist, ever, in the world, in the universe, ever. Amen.

Anyway. Enjoy your SDV Older Bachelors. The following IS slutty. MDNI. Gender neutral reader. Lowkey some of my favourite writing of late.

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

Slow. Methodical. He's taking his time with you. Slow, however, does not mean boring. Harvey loves fine details. And everything about you is a fine detail.

World's switchiest switch. Looks up at you like you're God when you ask it of him. Like he's under a spell. And, at other times, holds you down and coaxes you directly into oblivion.

Genuinely almost loses his shit altogether when you wear his clothes. Wear his button-downs. Wear his boxers. Fuck. If he's got anything to say about it, you won't be wearing them for long.

Wants absolutely nothing more than to be close to you, skin on skin, for as long as is physically possible. Rubs your neck and shoulders. Buries his head in your hair. Pushes in deep, deep, deep, holds you encased in his arms. Fucks like he wants to touch your soul.

Occasionally, jealous. The only time he gets a little rough, a little messy, tearing at clothes, biting at neck, hands at throat. You like to poke the bear for fun sometimes. You don't regret it. You're always his. He knows.

Head game is absolutely immense. Legs over shoulders, kneeling in front of you holding your thighs, he doesn't care.

Low groans direct into your ear. You lucky thing.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

Sensual in the most literal sense of the word. Deprivation is the name of the game, and blindfolds, ties, wax, incense and a fairly sizeable number of appliances are the rules.

Gentle but ruthless. One foot in the door of pleasure dom. Won't stop until you're just about ready to collapse, and watches you like you're a prey animal all the while. Not dominating in the traditional sense of the word - but he puts you in your place all right. A choice word or two. A select amount of pain. And suddenly, you’ll do whatever he asks.

Talks you through it. Soft, authoritative. Read a few too many books not to have picked up a trick of the tongue or two. Or ten. He never runs out of things to say to turn your brain to mush.

Gorgeous, slender hands. Firm hands. Hands that get to places you weren't even sure existed. Hands that have you trembling at the legs and begging and sweating.

Loves it when you break out the dominance. Has an attitude about it, too. You could knock it out of him with a couple of ropes and a silk tie in the mouth if you so chose. What a treat.

Whimpers when he gives in. Whines. Squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back and begs and pants and lets your name tumble out his mouth. He's good. He knows it. Sometimes, you're better. He knows it.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

He’s rough. Punishing. He drinks sometimes, but not often any more. He has a new favourite place to put all that hate - a place that loves it, that snaps it up and keeps on coming back for more. You’re more enticing than any other high he’s ever chased.

Wants you hard and messy and often. He can’t get enough. There are days when it’s all he thinks about, how he needs it, needs it, needs it so bad. Those are some of your favourite days.

Strong as a bull. He knows it. Holds you down and lifts you and pins you against walls like it’s nobody’s business. He’s wide, has thick everything, and has muscle to boot. Big rough hands. Around your neck, gripping your hips with force. He wants to touch every inch, wants to sink his fingers so deep and bruising that you become one person.

Not loud, but fuck if he doesn’t grunt. Sounds like an animal. Fucks a lot like one too.

Mean. Rude. Insulting, sometimes. You love it. He’s authoritative, commanding. You do as he asks, and he rewards you well.

And sometimes, he’s gentle. Sometimes, he’s sleepy and sore and lays behind you in bed and makes love to you lazily, naturally. Still strong, holding your legs apart, gripping your hips, but so, so loving and close, whispering to you how much he adores you, how good you make him feel.

Lives in terror that he’s going to hurt you one day. He never does.

[radioactivatedspider]

Hold On, Kiddo

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Pairings; Jensen Ackles x daughter!reader

Genre; Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings; Car accident, blood/injury detail (minor), hospital setting, emotional distress, mentions of a drunk driver, mild language, parent-child trauma bonding, implied medical procedures, crying and panic, protective dad energy

Summary: A late-night drive with Uncle Jared takes a terrifying turn when a drunk driver runs a red light. Now, 17-year-old (Y/N) lies injured and scared — but all she wants is her dad. And Jensen will do anything to be by her side.

Request: Can I request a Jensen x daughter reader? While the reader is driving with her uncle Jared one evening, a drunk driver hits them and the reader is injured. Perhaps something small got stuck in her stomach and she's bleeding. Jared gets out of the car and tries to calm the reader down. He then informs Jensen and they go to the hospital. The reader starts crying when she sees her father and Jensen calms her down. Reader age 16-17

777 words

The music was low, the windows cracked just enough to let in the cool night air, and Jared’s voice hummed along to the radio as he drove. You were watching the world blur past your side of the car, chin resting in your hand, body relaxed. Uncle Jared had picked you up from your friend’s house, filling in for your dad who’d been running late on set.

Everything was calm… until it wasn’t.

The screech of tires. A sudden blur of headlights. The jolt of impact.

CRASH.

You didn’t even have time to scream before the world spun.

Metal groaned and twisted around you. You hit the passenger door hard, your shoulder and side catching the brunt of the force. Something sharp — maybe glass or a piece of the dash — tore into your stomach. You gasped, dazed, the sharp pain registering slowly like it had to climb its way through the shock.

"Y/N?! Y/N!" Jared's voice snapped through the haze. He was already out of the car, door flung open, his long arms shaking off his seatbelt as he rushed to your side.

“I’m okay,” you tried to say, but your voice was small. Your hands pressed instinctively to your stomach, and that’s when you felt it — wet, warm, sticky. Blood. It coated your fingers. Something small and jagged stuck out from your skin just under your ribs.

Your breathing sped up.

Jared’s face appeared in the open doorway. “Hey, hey — I’ve got you. You’re okay. I need you to stay calm, alright?” His voice was trembling slightly, but his eyes were steady, focused. He glanced down and saw the injury, jaw tightening. “Shit…”

“Jared…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I’m right here,” he said quickly, crouching so you could see him better. “Help’s on the way. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine, Y/N.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I want my dad…”

Jared’s heart sank. “I know, sweetheart. I’m calling him now.”

He stepped away only for a moment, grabbing his phone with shaky fingers and walking a few paces away so you wouldn’t hear the fear in his voice.

The call connected. “Jensen? It’s Jared. Listen, there was an accident. A drunk driver hit us. Y/N’s hurt. She's… she's bleeding, man. Something’s in her side. We’re on Sunset, just past—yeah, yeah. Ambulance is on the way. I’m with her. She’s scared, Jen. She keeps asking for you.”

There was silence on the other end before Jensen’s voice cracked, “I’m coming. Tell her I’m coming.”

By the time you reached the ER, the pain had spread like fire across your torso. They hadn’t removed the object yet — protocol — but they’d tried to slow the bleeding. The room was cold. The nurses were quick but kind. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the hospital blanket until your hands started to cramp.

And then the door burst open.

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped toward the voice, and when you saw your dad — eyes wide, face pale, voice thick with panic — the tears finally came.

“Dad,” you sobbed, your entire body shaking. “It hurts…”

Jensen was at your side in seconds, one hand sliding behind your head, the other holding your hand so tight like if he let go, the whole world might collapse. “Hey, hey, baby girl… I’m here. I’m here now, alright?” His voice was soft, cracking at the edges. He looked you over with fast, terrified eyes, swallowing hard when he saw the gauze and blood at your side. “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo. You’re tough. You got that from me.”

You laughed weakly through the tears, and he smiled even though his own eyes were glossy.

Jared stepped into the room, his arm scraped and bandaged but otherwise okay. He stood silently, giving you a thumbs up, and you nodded back with a trembling smile.

“Dad,” you whispered again, voice almost childlike now. “Don’t leave, okay?”

Jensen bent forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Not going anywhere. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Hours passed. The object was removed successfully. No major organs were hit. You’d need stitches, a few days of monitoring, and rest. The doctors said you’d been lucky.

Jensen never left your side, not even once.

You woke up sometime later to find his jacket draped over you, his hand still holding yours, head resting beside you on the edge of the hospital bed. You smiled, still weak, and brushed your fingers against his cheek.

He stirred, eyes opening slowly.

“Still here?” you murmured.

He gave you a sleepy smile. “Told you. Not going anywhere.”

@globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl

[zazaiafe2]

First day of preparation for the protocol and testimonies from those who participated.

First day of preparation for my protocol on the group, let's go.

We started the protocol with a holotropic breathing session to open the body and mind, followed by a choice between three guided meditations centered on the Void. The goal? Tune in. Loosen the grip. Let go of the mental noise and maybe even experience the void or at least ego dissolution. And for many… it worked! Even very well.

Below, you’ll find the testimonies from people in my group Some got close to the Void. Some had physical, mental or emotional releases. Some saw things. Whatever came up, it all had meaning.

To guide you through all of this, I’m also sharing two Google Docs:

One with answers to common questions about holotropic breathing.

One to help you interpret visions, physical sensations, emotions, and dreams during and after the protocol if you want to follow what they did.

Here's what they experienced:

Testimony 1 :

"I completed the breathing, it was rather interesting.

(ignore if you dont want to read what happened lol and its VERY opinionated so dont continue if you get offended easily by slight harsh honesty)

for the breathing technique: (im sorry i keep forgetting the damn name..)

so at first i was at a sense of peace, like breathing slowly, as advised when the rhythm picked up, so did my breath, following the beat, besides that.. at some point.. i felt my body fuzzing, typical hypnagogia and also.. i felt my pulse throughout my entire body (im unsure what that was but i felt it throughout my literal entire body) and i felt my body swaying and eventually being like tugged almost? like something trying to tug it.. eventually the music slowed down.. so did i, back at peace and i felt myself sinking deeper. just i felt so free OH i forgot. i stopped breathing for maybe a minute without realizing?? like i felt like i didn't need to breathe anymore. it happened maybe 3-4 times where i just stopped breathing. so interesting.. but then alunir video came up..

aluir guided meditation the 2 hour one. i was so at peace and no offense but she yapped too much, kept snapping, pmo. so it broke the peace and eventually i felt my body, surroundings, everything was so quiet and soo nice until she kept talking. irritating. the snaps helped to revert my focus but she didn't need to do all of that but if she works for you, cool! but thats my personal experience.

-summary-

breathing exercise:

fuzzy body

absent limbs

hypnagogia

swaying

pulling

visuals (forgot about that and they were long ones too!)

pulse rising

feeling my pulse in my entire body

peace

calm

(eyes darkening? like felt myself sinking)

alunir video:

awareness

annoyance

became aware entirely and stopped like i was 30 minutes in and she STILL didn't get in the topic of the void like holy shit. why are we still doing the most? 😭 (no offense)

(i chose the 2 hour because i thought it would be better for me to have time to relax and be at ease but its like it wasn't relaxing at all for me, i was just waiting for her to stfu.)"

Testimony 2:

Ok so I just finished my breathwork, about to start void state (am using blue light filter to message).

So I have done a little bit of holotropic breathing before but not much, although these symptoms seem to be constant for me.

1) A sense of discombobulation. Like the dizziness that persists after you spin around for a long time. Primarily noticeable in my head. At one point, it was so strong that me slightly moving back on account of my breathing almost felt like I was about to fall back in my chair.

2) A cooling sensation in my ribcage/chest area. Heightens w inhales.

3) Yes, the struggle to keep pace but gradually letting it melt into comfortability. It takes around 15 mins for me and (for today) that's around the time I slowed down to move on.

I *have* noticed that previously, while I had failed to move my breath from my ribs to my belly fluidly, I was able to today in a sitting position as opposed to my previous position laying down.

Testimony 3

okay, I guess it is my turn to share my experience with holotropic breathing tonight. 

so I did a 40 minute session and it passed very quickly like I didn’t realised how long it was but the session was so wild, when I started breathing quickly I started feeling intense tickling in my body like I was almost shaking and it was so intense that I couldn’t even move my arms anymore?? or they where very heavy and then I started having diaphragm pain and the top of my back and my neck hurted too lol?? but then when the void meditation started I was in a very positive mindset it was clear that I was pretty calm but I think I kind of got calmer when just doing cardiacs coherence?  but honestly the experience was cool so I wanna do it again.

so I did the void meditation the short one and I think I almost entered it as I couldn’t practically feel my body anymore but it wasn’t all that so maybe I need a longer one as I didn’t felt ready to fall asleep so yeah, I definitely need a longer one, but yeah, after I listened to some subliminal and then I think in the middle of it I was almost falling asleep but then I kind of woke up to a big flash so it was strange and I just thought of my dr but nothing happened and I had trouble falling asleep after it, so I don’t know if the breathing did that to me or not, but that’s about it.

I also had a dream that I almost was lucid, but as I said before, I can’t seem to get like past the third stage of lucidity in a dream lmao

Testimony 4

me i initially wanted to do a 40 minutes session but the audio i was using started freaking me out cause it kept saying something in a language idk over and over so i was scared it was some kind of witch stuff💀 i stopped at 18 minutes but did the void meditation anyway and i think it worked incredibly well? at some point i was so heavy and i always thought people over looked "symptoms" but it felt way too real and i started floating away from my bed and the black in front of my eyes was still black but something changed in it? like a different black with some noises all over it. my sister started moving too much on the bunk bed which grounded me back and i was so mad to a point i said kind of mean things to her so i dreamed about her. i don’t really remember the dream but i woke up really guilty and i just remember it was about basically me being awful to her 🤷‍♀️ anyway i wanna do the void thing again it was crazy

i struggled to get into the breathing work cause i was scared my sister and brother would hear me and be like wtf (we sleep all 3 together in a room so it’s hard to have peace. my sister ruins it every single time im on the verge of shifting by moving too much 😀)

Testimony 5

I'm really late, but I'll also share my experiences

Holotrophic breathing:

- tingling

- swaying

- sudden breath stops (like not feeling the need/not breathing for 1-2 minutes before continueing with the holotrophic breathwork)

- pressure in head

- hypnagogic symptoms [random visions (at some point slenderman for some godforsaken reason?? I was rlly confused) dancing colours, cold then warm then cold sensations]

For me the holotrophic breathing is really difficult, I'm not sure why but I find it reallt uncomfortable to do. I listened to the 40 minute into the deep video but had to stop a little before the end and slowly let my breath return to normal because my heart was feeling fluttery. (I've inherited some of my grandma's heart issues. But it normally isn't really a problem, just random heart flutters) but the holothropic breathing seemed to aggrivate it for some reason maybe? Or it was just random and bad timing. Anyways, I stopped after about 25-ish minutes and moved

long alunir void meditation. It was really easy for me to relax, and i think I might have gone into the void for a little? Or I just fell asleep, i don't know. I remember like still thinking, but not hearing alunir anymore. Anyways I followed along, and when the main part of the meditation was over, and it was just the affirmations with a lot of time in between I let myself slowly drift off. And every once in a while I'd hear the affirmations, but it was really peacefull and kind of floaty and at some point I did fully fall asleep as I just woke up and I don't remember the ending of the meditation haha

Testimony 6

Hello! I finally woke up and I'm here to share my experience last night. I don't have much to share though, but I would say the holographic breathing gave the most to talk about now, since almost finishing the exercise my dog wanted to go downstairs to do their needs and had to get up and wait a while for her to come back. I did around 45 minutes of breathwork. I must admit that I was feeling lazy and scared of not being able to deliver with the task and have no experience at all, but I'm surprised that at the end I was able to breath 45 minutes straight almost automacally. The first thing I realized is that I was actively not thinking as much, since I was more focused on my breathing than anything, this is coming from someone that is constantly thinking the process. Time passed quickly the first minutes; I edited my audio so for the I could know when change the rhythm of my breathing at the sign of the music fading out and the sound of a signing bowl. At some point a lot sense of.

And I was in and out. Started feeling slight warm on my back and slight tingling in my limbs and in stance where I was mentally unconscious, came back to the moment and suddenly I saw so many colors and then the it turned into a many eyes. Not many eyes at once, but difference people glances at me in a style that reminded me to Renaissance paintings? At then just saw floating color once in a while. At some I wasn't feeling my limbs individually but feeling my body as whole, and the tingling was so intense just as the same when you sit in one of your limbs so long by accident. And I felt it squeezing it to the center of my body. There was so much pressure over my body.

When I was close on getting my breath to normal, my dog suddenly wanted to go outside to their needs and got out of the mood. I think 10 minutes to go back to normal wasn't enough because when I wanted to move, IT WAS SO HARD. It's like you push too pressure over your muscle in an specific exercise and pushed to the limit that you can't do another round, that's how it felt. Started feeling my hands and that's when I realized that I was slightly sweating. I stand up and I felt everything moving and my body attracted to the floor and heavy pitch in my hearing. I honestly thought my land was going to land on the floor lmao. About the meditation didn't got many results

Testimony 7

Summary:

The holotropic breathing got me feeling dizzy but in a pleasant way but the meditation didn't get me feeling relaxed for some reason. Maybe I just dislike sleeping with earbuds, but I did feel like I was about to shift

Here are also the links to the Google docs:

I really didn't correct the spelling and syntax errors in this one because it was mainly for the group not to blame me.😭

Don't hesitate to ask questions!

[higgsarchive]

DS2 SPOILERS

i think what I want from DS2 is, at this point, just really self indulgent. Considering the way the actual game is though? I feel a bit justified in my own self indulgence LMFAO, and that's not even really an insult towards the absolutely ridiculous nature of DS2

Messy ramble below cut!

Really though, i think that if the desire is to have a sort of,, weird copy/parallel/what have you in regards to higgs and the stranding being the Main Problem, they should just like. Embrace that a lot harder, especially because it gives an opportunity to dive more into preexisting characters and give more of an excuse to expand on established lore, which is always interesting IMO

Really though, if higgs is who you want as your main Big Bad, instead of neil's memories just,, have the memories be from higgs, i feel like that could be SUPER fun especially if some of the memories are in regards to Fragile [i think about his journal entry about her showing him the beach all the time pleaseeeeee that could be SO fun to see explored more]

a deep dive into his relationship to others and his past gives people who MISSED it a chance to get more context on why this freak of nature is so important and why he does what he does, while ALSO giving the people who cared enough to hunt it down themselves the satisfaction of seeing it brought center stage and potentially given even more details

PLUS this gives people curious about the history of the game a chance to see some stuff pre-DS1, and gives Fragile fans a chance to get some peeks at her running her company before the whole Bombing Thing

Higgs straight up says that he's upset over being left all alone on the beach, plus he KNOWS that an attempted stranding brought Sam to him before, and hes likely, in some weird ways of his own, trying to grab onto Sam and get his attention, so ofc his memories are gonna slip through in the midst of that emotion storm. I don't even think he'd necessarily be trying to deliver a message like cliff or neil, he just feels so much and so intensely, and he's so obsessed with Sam that it just bleeds through

He needs Sam to come to him, he wants to not be abandoned and just forgotten on the beach, and so he plays that same role he's familiar with and starts the same story he knows worked the first time. Ending the world brings the hero to the villain, should work a second time

I won't lie! I don't have a complete coherent timeline in my head or how to logistically make this work, none of that, I just know that I don't like the plot and want something that could explore the concepts and characters of the world a bit better. Also I don't like Lou being Tomorrow so Lou either doesn't die and it's a whole game of keep-away while also trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with higgs and the stranding or higgs just steals the baby and wants to use it like a bomb like fucking Karl Heisenberg in RE8, no baby death and Sam gets to actually raise his baby and watch her grow up post game

Also If you're someone who REALLY wants higgs to die at the end then like,.,. It all still sort of works out anyway because you can always spin it as an "After he attempted and APAC called him back it won't let him move on, he needs Sam to come fuck some shit up so he can actually fucking die bc he's just. So so tired of all this"

Like APAC could be really scary if allowed I think and the idea of this fucking supercomputer that thinks it knows what's best and wants to control EVERYTHING, going so far as to try controlling the properly dead like higgs, is just such a funky idea to work with. And when you take that into account with the focus on higgs like,, yeah it could be really interesting to play around with the idea that higgs wants it to all be done with and just,, can't move on, so he starts this whole big fucking show just to drag Sam to the beach and get him to indirectly help him pass

I personally want him to. Not die so that's whats real and true in my heart and soul but if you want him to die then it still works. I think Sam helps him leave the beach tho and he has to be rehabilitated like a horrible street dog but he's still really fucked up bc that man's brain is like. Absolutely fucking fried after how long he spent on the beach LMAO

This is soooo disjointed and messy but I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense WAHA

[aka-indulgence]

prefacing this with an apology if this sounds weird; but how do you get into marine biology- for a living, i mean? its something ive wanted to do forever and every time i hype myself up enough to start doing something about it i find/watch a video that says that its next to impossible to become one because the field is so competitive, or a family member will mention how scientists are getting phased out by the government rn cuz. generally everythings going to shit rn btu thats beside the point- and how i'll need to do all this volunteer work to even get a chance at getting hired somewhere, IF i even go through with it. its something thats been drilled into my head for years as next to impossible to try and accomplish and if i even did, it somehow wouldn't even pay enough or just. idk its. something thats been really special to me forever and getting told 'yeah, you can't do this, that and you wont be able to live off it/have any social life bc of the hours you'll work/have to put towards it' over and over again every time i try to get a little bit closer to doing something with/about it just... really hurts. sorry for dumping this all on you, and thank you for listening

OK (rubs my hands together) this is gonna be long because this has been my life’s efforts to get where I am. I had to rewrite it twice to keep it brief djshfdl

Ah… to be honest, I’m still finding my footing in the area, so I’m not exactly an expert on it, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But everything you said sounds so familiar, I’ve heard it all before :/ I don’t know why people want to discourage people so much from getting into marine biology??? Maybe Big Fish wants to stop people form saving the sea sjhddfljg

I’ve heard very similar things throughout the years, whether its too competitive or too much work or ‘too boring’. I kept going because I felt we need more marine biologists regardless, and a lot of spite (lol)

There are truths to what they say, though I think they’re too ‘crush your dreams’ rather than looking at reality in a normal lens. I mean, in this economy, getting a job is hard in general you know??? 😅 It took me a while, internships and volunteers and multiple applications to get to where I am now, and I still have a lot of climbing to do. But it is achievable!!!

Volunteering is a really good way to get into it. Because marine biology is a relatively close-knit field, it’s easier to get into the field when you know a lot of people that can put a recommendation for you. When you do volunteer or internship, make sure you ask them how to get into their organization, or any other that they might be working with. This isn’t perfect of course, since you’re not being paid, so you would still need something else to provide you money, but this is the best way to get into the field. It’s also good to get the experience they’re looking for and to test the waters of how much you enjoy/are able to do the work.

It also helps if you have a background in either marine biology, marine science, oceanography, biology, or/and conservation, but you can still volunteer without these.

As for the money + social life + workload, it depends from place to place. I’ve experience living in isolation (surrounded by people) before so I would say I’ve adapted to restricted social circles, and most of my close friends are available through the internet (also why I try to be on tumblr more lol). I work a lot because I have a big team that I have to manage, so I actually would prefer a smaller scale project so I can focus on myself and my direct work more. But I put a rule on myself to not work once the sun goes down, because it’s very easy to work for a whole day. I know a lot of people who have more workload and work for long times, but they always tell me that it’s worth getting through for the ocean. And though it’s not a field you go to if you want a lot of money, I know you can climb up to better salaries, depending on the country. You might try to look internationally, because a lot of marine biologist positions look internationally, especially in ‘developing countries’. Though of course that has a whole different set of challenges. Just make sure to review said salary before you take it, if it’s livable for your way of life.

I’ll admit, it’s a lot of work to get in there. But it’s possible!!! TL;DR: volunteering is your best way of getting your foot in the field. Ask how to work there. It’s not a field with a lot of money but depending on the place it’s livable, social life depends on how you handle your social life, try to impose work life balance on yourself.

PS. There are marine bio positions with better work-life balance, but again it depends on the location! Being somewhere more populated with places to go/‘more developed’ usually has better balance because it gives you places to go to outside of working hours.

[actual-changeling]

Hey! I love your txf analysis and I just read your post about S6 Mulder and how frustrating his treatment of Scully is. I hear you about the reactions you might get but wanted to say I would personally love to hear more of your thoughts/analysis on that and also what, if anything, you think happens to get him to where he is at the start of S7 (post/end of Amor Fati). Thanks!

Thank you <3 I do have some metas I've never fully finished or shared, so maybe now I'll get around to it. And oh boy do I have THOUGHTS on Amor Fati. I pulled out the screencaps, which is how you know I'm getting all excited, so here goes. Offer me a prompt and I will write an essay.

Generally, I like to pretend that this storyline doesn't exist because a) I hated watching it and I still hate it now and b) continuity? killed. left to rot in Chris Carter's backyard like Diana Fowley.

What gets Mulder to his s7 self? Nothing. Fuck all. No character development. There was so much potential for explorative, character-focused episodes that untangle their mess and try to make it make sense. Scully is still deeply hurt and putting up walls (rightfully so), and then after Amor Fati the writers just pretend nothing of s6 ever happened.

Some people in this fandom think that Diana is the core issue of their conflict, but that's not true. She's simply the catalyst for a process that was already past its first stages, and then her mere presence plus occasional meddling make it worse.

Personally, I'd say that the first domino happened all the way back in Detour when Mulder not just rejected Scully's bid for attention, but literally ran from it. That is a grown ass man who refuses to sit with his discomfort to go and hunt shadow men instead. She's fine with him ditching her at the beginning of that episode, but after that? He keeps ditching her, and she goes through all the stages of grief before eventually settling on "fuck you, but I'm too tired to fight you anymore".

So once we reach the biogenesis arc, we have a Mulder who STILL has never apologized for any of the mean shit he pulled on her and STILL trusts Diana over Scully. She worries, tells him to go and rest, and when he finally collapses he ends up with Diana.

Then he has the fucking audacity to throw "you're my friend" at her and call her his touchstone. Don't get me wrong, I love that scene, and if you ignore the context, it's incredibly sweet and romantic—can't really do that though, my brain doesn't work like that.

The state Scully is in is largely his fault. This is on him, and he refuses to fix it or even acknowledge it. But she's vulnerable, scared, lost in ever conceivable way, so when he tells her how much she means to him and everything she needs to hear so fucking bad, she believes him.

I mean, he looks at her with large doe eyes, holds her face in his hands, says "I love you" without actually saying it, I'd close my eyes against all the rational arguments too.

She lets him talk, reciprocates, and then she has to walk away. I think she really wanted to kiss him at this moment, and in a better universe she definitely would have, but the thing is that Mulder Does This tm.

Whenever he gets scared that she is going to leave and/or he needs something from her, he pulls out a big speech and gets all emotional, and she believes him—until he takes it back later. (I think I already wrote a meta post about this specifically at some point.)

It's a messy, vulnerable moment, and she cannot kiss him and make any of it real. She just can't. God, does she love him, and it's written all over her face, and yet she HAS to turn around and leave for her own good.

This isn't relief or happiness, this is I know what you're doing, and I wish I could just believe you, but you'll hurt me again. (I love you and never stopped, even when you stopped looking.)

Words are not enough, Mulder needs to keep his promises and act on them for her to actually commit to him and their relationship, and THAT is a process. That takes time. That takes several episodes of good writing and continuous awareness of the character's relationships.

Since this is the X Files, though, we're not getting any of that and are stuck with Amor Fati instead. The least they could have done is kill Fowley ON SCREEN and give us the satisfaction of seeing her dead on the ground. They could have used the second half of s6 to fix their shit and chose not to and then made it worse. SO much potential gone to waste.

I have a (very) long-standing personal alternate Arcadia story where they are stuck together in the suburbs for several weeks, if not months, instead of like two days.

Lock them in a big house with little to do, make them share a bed and pretend to be married, and then see what happens; don't let them out until they've started solving their shit. Everything gets worse before it slowly gets better, and the close-quarter pining paired with intense angst is one hell of a drug. Small parts of it are written, but I've been missing the motivation to sit down and plot it all out.

This got wildly out of control since I literally cannot shut up about this, but I hope it was an enjoyable read anyway!

[staysdelulus]

Bodyguard Brat x Misunderstood "Brat" - Chapter Seven MDNI

A/N: Taglist request here!

MDNI: Smut at the beginning of the chapter.

A/N: I also apologize beforehand for Chapter 8...

WC: 3209

Masterlist // Chapter Six // Chapter Eight

The light starts filtering through the window in the early morning. A few hours have passed since our intimate encounter. Now, I feel him shifting behind me, his breath warm against my neck, fingers splayed on my hips, tracing lazy circles on my skin. His touch is tender, my core stretched from what he had given me just a few hours ago.

“I know you’re awake, baby,” he murmurs softly, his voice low with amusement. His hands slide up, palming the underside of my breast and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been squirming since I kissed your shoulder.”

His fingers flick over my nipple, and I immediately try to bit back a sound. Not exactly a moan, but Chan catches it anyway. His voice is teasing as he speaks. “What’s wrong, baby? Still needy?”

My embarrassment doesn’t let me answer right away, his fingers sliding down to my stomach, my navel, near my clit. I gasp when his fingers brush over the sensitive nub. He doesn’t press against it, not yet, but he hovers there, already aware of the ache building up in my core. He pulls away, turning me to face him. “Use your words, baby. I’m not gonna do anything unless you ask me nicely.”

My face flushes, heart hammering. “Ch-Chan…”

He raises an eyebrow, and I continue, teeth tugging my lips. “Please… I need you. D-Down there. Again.”

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark. “I don’t know, baby.”

“Please…” my voice trails off, cheeks reddening. I took a guess. I could kind of tell. He had been the one in control earlier, his eyes hooded as he looked down at me, his voice demanding. Controlling. “Please, Daddy.”

Shit. The words echo in his head as he snaps, flipping me onto my back as I gasp. His hands are on either side of my head, eyes burning with authority and control. He purrs softly. “There’s my good girl. Open your legs for me, baby. Let me take care of what’s mine.”

I open without a thought, the thrill of pleasure already fogging my brain as his mouth trails down my body. Slow, deliberate kisses make me ache with need. He’s slow, refusing to rush, making me wait. Even when I plead, cries falling from my lips, he keeps his touch controlled and precise. He just keeps me beneath him, his touch leaving me trembling.

Eventually, I find his head between my thighs, my core tightening in anticipation as he licks a long, slow, deliberate stripe. I whimper, thighs trembling as he holds me legs apart, his mouth locked with my core, slow at first, developing into deep, rhythmic strokes that make me cry out his name, a keening gasp escaping my throat.

“Can’t stay quiet?” Chan asks, laughing against my core. I whimper. “Shit, Y/n. You were all embarrassed earlier, and now look at you, dripping all over my mouth.”

My hips jerk up desperately. “P-Please-”

He holds me down, tongue fucking my core relentlessly as his fingers dig into my thighs. “Stay still. Be a good girl and take everything I give you.”

His fingers push into me, curling up slightly asI cry out. His mouth falls to my inner thighs, kissing my skin before he snarls softly. “Come for me. Now.”

His fingers push into me roughly, the orgasm hitting hard as I scream his name, hands falling to his curls, body arcing into him. Chan laughs, continuing to use his fingers as I whimper. He doesn’t let up, even when I’m shaking. He just pulls his fingers out, laughing softly. “We’re not done yet, baby. You asked for me, yeah? Daddy isn’t gonna go anytime soon.”

He flips me over, pulling me up on my knees. My body sways in his arms, lost in the haze of pleasure as he grabs his belt, securing my hands behind my back. He pushes me down, my cheek pressed against the mattress, flushing from embarrassment as he grips my ass, kneading the flesh and spreading me apart. I can barely think, the hum of arousal too loud, the belt tight around my wrists, a reminder of who I belonged to.

“Look at you,” Chan laughs, voice heavy with amusement and hunger. “My perfect little slut. All soft, spread, and dripping for Daddy. Such a good girl, yeah? Ready to be my cocksleeve?”

I whimper at the title. Chan leans in, his fingers grasping my jaw and forcing my head up to face him. “Say it. Who do you belong to, baby?”

“Y-You,” I sniffle. “Belong to you."

He slaps my ass once, his voice angry. “You, who?”

“You, Daddy,” I whimper, breath hitching. He slaps my ass again, sharp and stinging as I cry out. His hand splays across the mark, soothing it as he growls in my ears. “Louder.”

“You, Daddy!” I cry out, trembling under his chest.

His lips pull back as he purrs. “Good girl. Now tell me, do you want Daddy’s cock, baby? Does my good girl want to be full of my mark and ruined for anything else?”

I nod desperately. “Yes, yes- Please- Please, Daddy. Please.”

“No need to beg,” Chan says, chuckling darkly. “I do like it, though. You’re here to just take what I’m giving you, yeah? That’s all.”

He hums softly, as if he’s taking his time, lining his cock with my folds, teasing me as he slides in. My slick arousal clings to him, and without another second, he’s thrusting into me, hands gripping my hips as my fingers grasp at air, hands stuck behind my back.

The stretch is sudden. Perfect. Chan groans above me, the sound guttural as he fucks himself into me. “Fuck- Y/n, this pussy is mine, yeah? So fucking tight, like you were made for Daddy.”

Each stroke is harder than the last, the relentless rhythm growing louder as his hips slap against my ass. The headboard slams against the wall, the sounds obscene as I scream into the mattress, the brutal pace leaves me reeling, a hand tangled in my hair, the other splayed on my stomach as he pushes himself further into me.

“This what you needed, baby?” he growls, panting in my ear as his hips press further and further into me. “Need Daddy to ruin your tight little cunt, yeah? Yeah?”

“Yes-” I whimper. “Ah- y-yes-”

He slaps my ass, hand moving around to slap my clit right after. I whimper, legs shaking as he growls. “Yes, what?”

“Y-Yes, D-D-Daddy,” I sputter.

“You’re gonna come when I say so, understand? Not a second before, not a second after. This pussy- This cunt belongs to me,” Chan snarls.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper again.

He reaches around me again, rubbing tight circles over my clit with practiced precision. As my walls flutter, I bite down on the bedsheets, doing my best to desperately obey.

“Look at you,” he taunts. “So desperate, so pathetic. You want Daddy to be proud, right? You think you deserve to come?”

“I want-” my voice cracks. “I just w-wanna- I wanna be your good- please, Daddy-”

“Then beg like the good slut you are,” he snarls.

“Please,” I sob, tears blurring my eyes. “Please let me come- Daddy- I need- I need you- need to come-”

“Come for me,” he demands.

My body explodes, the orgasm ripping through me like a wildfire, shattering everything in sight. I scream his name into the bedsheets, walls spasming around him as my eyes roll back.

Chan isn’t far behind, groaning as he slams into me once, twice, and a third time before stilling. His cock twitches in me, overstimulating my sensitive walls as he empties himself deep inside of me.

He stays there, cum dripping out of me, spilling down my thighs, breath hot against my back. Gently, he pulls, out, my body crumbling as he unties my wrists, massaging the marks before pulling me into his arms, his chest heaving. “Good girl. You did so good for me. Daddy’s proud of you, okay?”

I just nod, exhausted and satisfied, lips trembling. “Just wanna make you proud.”

--

The following days after our intimate encounter is like heaven. Sunlight streams through the windows each morning, catching his sharp jaw, his glistening collarbone, and the pink fingerprints he left on my skin. He holds me tightly, praising me gently, tracing my body with the reverence that makes me want to cry.

He’s not just gentle in the privacy of the room, though, he’s softer as a whole, even in the public. He brings me tea when I’m stressed, poring over the papers my parents hand me, expecting me to figure out what the puzzle of the numbers are. Other times, I steal his hoodies, rummaging through his drawer and finding the most comfortable one.

When he sees me wearing it, his lips twitch in amusement, eyes softening slightly as he tugs on the drawstrings, ruffling my hair. I keep his hoodie on at all times, clinging onto him whenever I could. We cook together, giggling quietly in the kitchen, running out of the house down to the convenience store late after midnight.

We watch movies together, knees pressed together, reaching for the popcorn between us. He pulls me in his lap a few times, his arms comfortable around my waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Whenever we hear the footsteps of our parents, we pull away, my posture slouching as Chan straightens up, his eyes ahead.

I didn’t want to get used to it, but it made it hard to hope.

That’s exactly when things start to change.

It wasn’t overnight, but it was close. It started out with waking up alone, his side of the bed warm, but empty. No notes, and no goodbye. It didn’t bother me in the slightest, until it started happening over and over again. I tell myself he’s just busy. Maybe he had another job; maybe my parents were giving him more tasks.

But then he starts pulling away physically. He doesn’t fall in step next to me when we’re walking, always a few steps behind me at business galas. He pulls away from me whenever I sit next to him on the couch, and he avoids me when I try to kiss him goodnight.

“Look, it’s got your face!” I say once, showing him a small cactus I had impulsively bought. He doesn’t even crack a smile. Everything between us was growing farther apart, the heat beginning to dissipate.

By the time two weeks have passed, he’s completely avoiding me. When I’m home, he disappears, saying something about needing air. He doesn’t explain, just opens the creaking door and leaving hastily. Other times, he snaps at the little things, easily irritated, staring off at nothing. It’s like he’s a completely different man, so unlike the person who had kissed me and fucked me with an unmatched passion.

I didn’t want to be clingy, I just found different ways to remind him I was there, whenever he was ready to explain. Small notes in the pocket of his shirt, making a cup of tea in his favorite mug at night before he would try to fall asleep. He acts like he doesn’t notice, always cold, always pulling away.

And then…

--

October 3rd. It’s 3:09 AM, to be precise. The mansion is far too quiet, a stillness that makes Chan feel like he’s drowning in his skin. His back is turned to my side of the bed, brows furrowing. Suddenly, he sits upright, his eyes falling to my side of the bed.

His blood runs cold. Empty. Without another word, he slides on his slippers, every instinct on high alert. He was here to do his job, to be my bodyguard, that’s it. Chan stays close to the wall, creeping against it before he moves closer to the light spilling out of the kitchen. Carefully, he peers in.

There I am, clad in a large hoodie, giggling softly as I twirl around, humming to music only I could hear. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, the hem falling to my thighs, drowning me as flour lingers on my cheeks. The oven light paints me in gold, my eyes checking on the cookies, full of anticipation.

That’s when Chan snaps.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

His voice whips through the air like a gunshot, leaving me flinching as I gasp, dropping the spatula I’m holding into the sink. I turn to him, eyes widening before I smile brightly. “O-Oh, hey. I- I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just-”

“Just what?” Chan snaps, storming into the kitchen. “Pretending to be a housewife? Baking cookies in the middle of the night like some deranged person hoping for a pat on your fucking head?”

“I…” My voice breaks off, trailing away as I look up at him, eyes wide. “I- I thought you might want something sweet. You’ve been tired, and I-”

“Give it a fucking rest,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Tired? Of course I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of being smothered, and I’m tired of pretending you’re not following me like a lost dog. I’m tired of you acting like a fucking night of sex makes you feel special.”

My breath hitches. “I never s-said-”

“You didn’t have to,” he spats. “I see it in your goddamned eyes each time I walk into the room. You’re so fucking desperate, like you’re hoping I give a shit.”

My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. Chan continues. “I don’t care, alright? I don’t care how many cookies you bake or how many stupid smiles you give me. You’re not some precious shit I need to handle gently. You’re just noisy. You’re just some clingy, needy, delusional, shit I never asked to deal with. This is just a job. This-”

“Chan,” I whimper, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m not- I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop saying my name like it matters to you!” he roars. “You don’t fucking know me! You’ve never known me! You just made up some version of me in that little head of yours to make yourself feel better about being alone and unwanted!”

I freeze, the silence sharp enough to draw blood. He’s not even close to done. “You’re exhausting. Always so fucking present trying to do what? Useful? Cute? Worth something? You’re not. You don’t fix anything, and you don’t make things any better at all. You just fill up the rooms you enter with smoke until no one else can breathe. And you still ask why they can’t fucking breathe.”

My lower lip trembles, my hands falling to the side. I want to fight his angry words, but nothing comes. I just turn away, lips trembling as I pull out the last batch of cookies from the oven. Without another word, I leave, pausing only at the door. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

With that, I leave, slow and silent, the way people do when they know there’s no winning or surviving. Chan’s chest heaves, turning to stare at the cookies angrily. That’s when it finally clicks.

They weren’t just cookies. They’re chocolate chip cookies, shaped like hearts. A few cookies are lined up, frosting on them to spell out Happy Birthday Chan! Some of them are messier, a sign I had redone them over and over again until they were just right.

And then, a letter addressed to him, folded up in an envelope with a cute wolf sticker and a cactus drawing. His fingers fumble as he opens it.

Happy birthday, Chan!

I’m a bit scared to say it out loud, but maybe I will later. I just know you’ll wave it off and say it’s not a big deal. Lately, you’ve been a bit distant, but I know you’re just doing your job, right? But I didn’t want to go ignored, so I guess I needed to try something.

I baked some cookies for you! I hope you like them and remind you of home. You should eat them when they’re warm; I like reheating them and adding a bit of salt at the top, just so they’re soft and gooey in the middle, but hard on the outside. That’s like you, right? You always act so tough, but I know you have a really soft heart inside.

I don’t want you to think I expected anything from you. I just want you to be okay, and I want to be able to be a person you can open up to. You’ve always inspired me to be the best person I can be, and I sincerely promise I won’t be a brat, at least not to you :) 

Can we spend time together later? Only if you want to, of course. I just want to show you that someone remembered and someone cares. I may or may not have peeked at your profile on my father’s desk. But I do want to say that you deserve the best things ever. Even if you don’t believe me, even if you don’t say thank you, and even if you hate me for trying…

Happy birthday, Chan. You were born for a reason, and you really did change the world My world, at least.

Yours always, if you’ll have me,

Y/n

P.s. - I love you!

The letter trembles in his hands, his throat burning. For the first time in weeks, he wants to scream. Or cry. Or go back in time to take back the words he had so callously spit out at me. But all he hears is silence. All he sees is a tray of cookies.

All he remembers is the broken I’m sorry I had whispered. He reads the letter again. And again. And again. It wasn’t the most heartfelt letter, but it cut right into his heart. He clings onto the paper, a tear smudging the ink as he holds back a cry, staring down at it, the cookies, the note, my way of showing I cared without making a scene. I remembered.

He barely remembered what he said, only remembering the way my face changed when he spat them at me, the life draining from my eyes as I turned and fled. He wanted to believe it was better this way, and that he needed to get away before he ruined me anymore, but it was a lie.

I had kept trying, over and over again. And he only continued to ignore me. Each time he was back late, he would find me asleep on the couch, clad in his hoodie, waiting for him. Even when he got irritated at me over the smallest things, I would fix it without being asked twice.

I had wanted him to feel special. Loved. He only made me feel worthless. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He just trembles, grabbing a cookie and showing it down his throat, a mix of sweetness and the saltiness of tears mixing. He wants to find me, to beg and plead and everything else in between.

But what do you say to someone after you tell them they’re worth nothing?

Especially when they believed you were everything?

~~

@kenia4 @yougottobekittenme @btch8008s @aylin-mhi-97 @rinheartshyunlix

[love-fireflysong]

I'm just saying you guys, if you're a fanfic author and you're going through a rough period where you keep feeling like your writing is shit and awful and just absolute garbage, just reread your own work.

You don't even have to look at the comments if you're going through a particularly nasty patch where you're convinced everyone is just lying and was only saying nice things to spare your feelings. Just reread the fic itself. It'll change your mind so quick I promise.

There's seriously nothing quite like clicking on what is *your* most popular fic and going 'Oh. I get it now. I think I understand why other people actually like this one so much holy shit'.

[rattusrattus3]

.

[gomzdrawfr]

wrote out plans and stared at my calendar, putting my hands together and mutter a quiet "you do need a break"

[thisurlwasnttakenbutnowitis]

My supervisor at work just made me hop on a call with her, demanding me to explain to her why I was "ignoring her messages" last night. You wanna know what time her first message came in? 5:04 PM. You wanna know what time my shift ends and I shut down my computer for the night? 5:00 PM. Now, anyone with half a brain and especially someone with readily-available access to my schedule and my clock punches could probably suss out the reason I didn't respond to those messages, hmm? And yet there I was, having to defend myself with simple facts that she could have figured out herself if she had taken one fucking second to look! Oh, and of course there was no apology from her afterwards either, because why would there be? It's not like she was wrong or anything, because oh, my status in Microsoft Teams still showed as "available" for a second when she messaged, I'm sorry. Because that never takes a few minutes to automatically update or anything. So the lesson here wasn't "maybe put in the tiniest amount of research before coming at one of your employees with instant accusations", no, it's that I need to make sure I manually set my status to offline in Microsoft Teams when I leave for the day.

I have been at my job for 5 years, and in that time, I have had 6 supervisors. I've never kept the same one for too long, and I'm hoping that trend continues because this is the first supervisor I've had that has actively made me hate my job. 🥲

[zipquips]

i rememorized how to solve a rubik's cube!